


Talking about captains

by j520j



Series: Green Eyes [1]
Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Blake et Mortimer | Blake and Mortimer, Poirot - Agatha Christie, Poirot - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Divergent Timelines, First Meetings, Gen, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j520j/pseuds/j520j
Summary: When a Belgian (created by a British author) meets a British, (created by a Belgian author) the two start to talk about their best friends (who are both captains).





	Talking about captains

**Author's Note:**

> No beta. Probably some grammar errors... sorry!

Hercule Poirot hated to fly. The mere thought of getting into a plane made him shiver, but he had to hurry back to Brussels. And the plane was much more practical and fast.

With resolute steps, the little man climbed the stairs into the aircraft. At least he would travel first class, and that would guarantee him a little more comfort. The flight would be fast, so his martyrdom would not last long. Even so, he can't help but think it would be good to have a company.

 _Sapristi!_ he thought. _If Hastings were here, at least I could be distracted by one of his silly but funny conversations._

As he settled into his seat, away from the window, the detective began rummaging through his pockets for some pills that would make him sleep. It was easier to face the flight if he were asleep. But as soon as he raised his hand for the flight attendant to bring him a glass of water, a red-haired man appeared beside him.

"Excuse me." he asked, pointing to the seat near the window. There was something in his voice, and in his Scottish accent slightly tempered with a slight Indian phonetic distinction, which made Poirot raise his head and pay more attention to his face.

The man must have been around forty, he wore an old-fashioned beard style that only members of the Mennonite religion should wear in those days. He has shrewd green eyes and was very well dressed, though his bow tie was crooked (and Poirot had to use all his self-control to not stretch his hand and straighten it out) and his sleeves were dotted with little patches of unknown liquids.

" _Bien sûr_." said the detective, pulling his legs and allowing the man to sit in his place. And Poirot realized that, at that moment, the redhead also began to pay close attention to him.

 

.........................................

 

Philip Mortimer was so distracted reading his magazine in the waiting room that he almost missed the flight. Fortunately he was warned by the announcer and ran to the boarding gate. He left his luggage on the mat and headed for the plane, thinking he should have smoked before the flight. Now he could only have his pipe when he arrived in Brussels.

Brussels always gave him a strange feeling of being home - even Philip having been there a few times. Sometimes he wanted to improve his French and start teaching at local universities, but he always changed his mind. London needed him, and MI5, for whom his friend worked, would be lost without his intellectual assistance.

As soon as he started up the stairs, he touched his pockets and realized that the scientific magazine he carried with him was in his suitcase. He let out a sigh, realizing he would have nothing to distract himself for more than a tedious hour of flight.

 _It's a pity Francis is not with me_. he thought.  _His conversation always distracts me, even when it is about his bureaucratic work in the intelligence service._

His seat was number 8 near the window. He approached the 7th seat and politely asked the occupant to move his legs ( _'ample first-class space' my foot!_ ) so he could get to his place.

" _Bien sûr_." said the man, in a well-anticipated Belgian accent to someone who was taking the flight to Brussels. But something in that soft baritone tone made the scientist pay more attention to him.

He was a short man, probably no more than 1,60m tall. It was difficult to distinguish his age, especially since his black hair was obviously dyed, but he must be older than Philip. The Belgian was a bit bald, which made his egg-shaped head looks a little funny. His eyes were green and glittered with intelligence ( _Uh, is_   _he paying close attention to me?_ ) and his distinguishing feature was the waxed mustache in an old-fashioned style that only Victorian-era nostalgists should wear.

After a few moments Philip finally remembered where he knew him.

"Monsieur Poirot?!" he exclaimed. "The great detective?"

"Professor Mortimer?" exclaimed the Belgian in reply. "The bright scientist?"

 

.........................................

 

When the plane took off, the two gentlemen were already talking animatedly. Poirot even forgot the usual malaise he felt, his sleeping pills were forgotten in the pocket of his suit.

"It's really a great surprise to meet you in person." said the Briton, smiling as he sipped some of his whiskey. "I thought you had retired."

"Big movie stars announce their retirement several times, but they never fulfill it." the detective commented, sipping his wine. "Not that I'm comparing myself to one of these leading men, of course! At best, someone like me would be an extra, with no lines."

"Or else he would be the lead actor in a big detective movie!" Mortimer decreed. "Alas, I don't understand how they haven't made a film about you yet, Monsieur Poirot. There are so many fictional detectives much less exciting than the real-life cases you have solved."

"Ah, I suppose in these days what is fashionable is the movies about the heroes of war, which I imagine you are one of them, Professor."

"Nonsense! I merely offered a little help to the true heroes, as my friend Captain Francis Blake. I belive do you heard of him. "

"Of course. He received the Victoria Cross and participated in that case that was known in the newspapers as ' _La Marque Jaune_ '. Pity I was at Paris at the time and wasn't able to take part in the case, it must have been very exciting! But about Captain Blake, I have not heard more news about him."

"Well, if he was always in the center of attention, he would be a lousy spy, wouldn't he?"

"Aha, _oui!_ " Poirot beckoned at the flight attendant to bring another glass of wine. "And about movies, how about one about the great Professor Mortimer, the inventor of the swordfish airplane?"

"It would be a box office bomb for sure!"

"Unless they call a heartthrob for your role. How about Gregory Peck? He looks a bit like you, especially in that 'Moby Dick' movie."

"By Jove! Now you're making fun of me! Hahaha!"

The scientist's laughter was large, drawing a little attention in that first class full of arrogant and mute people. It was possible to see that he, despite being a gentleman, was of a less ignoble and more human kind.

Poirot sympathized with the man, for most of the scientists he met were people of little social skill. Mortimer was also intelligent in many areas of knowledge beyond physics and mathematics. At one point they started talking about churches and the scientist began a lecture about Gothic architecture.

If there was only one flaw in the man, he really talked too much. It was hard to cut off his speech.

" ... and the Gothic style greatly increased the amount of glass in large buildings. In the early part of the period mainly black paint and clear or brightly coloured glass was used, but in the early 14th century the use of compounds of silver was... oh! I'm sorry!" the professor said, with a cough, and take a sip of his whiskey. "I love turning a trivial conversation into a tedious class. It's a bad habit I have."

" _Pas du tout!_ At least you have a great knowledge on various subjects. It's always good to talk to people who have cultural backgrounds."

"Likewise! And I'm sure you too must have many interesting subjects. If I'm not being very ... um ... 'fanboy', I'd love to hear more details about your cases."

"I believe that all that was necessary to know, my faithful friend and biographer Captain Arthur Hastings has already recorded in the press."

"Oh, it's true! Although I have not read anything in the papers and magazines. Did the captain stop writing?"

"He is on Argentina, solving some business matters. I decided to go to Brussels in his absence to solve some family matters. Unpleasant, but necessary thing."

"I see. Well, Francis has been called to solve some matters in America, while I am going to give some lectures at some colleges in Brussels."

"So it's not a vacation trip?"

"No, usually when I travel on holidays or vacations Francis also comes with me."

An insinuating smile formed on Poirot's lips.

" _Très intéressant_!" he said.

 

.........................................

 

People already warning Mortimer that he talks too much. No only in the lab or in the class, he talks too much in conversations, chit-chat and, more than one time, he spits out things that he must keep secret. Or, at least, things he should be more careful to talk with 'strangers'.

There's a bunch of sensive subjects that you have to be careful who you talk to. And it's not just complications pertaining to the law, but heavy social stigmas that can destroy a career. 

The little detective was not stupid and must have understood the lines between what he had just said. Hell, Philip could barely hide his smile every time he spoke of Blake, did he? Mounsier Poirot was a great master of human psychology and could see through him all the charm he felt for his captain friend.

Philip could only hope the Belgian was ... a understandable person.

" _Très intéressant_!" he said, with an insinuating smile on his lips.

That small smile and the gentle laughter that followed was a relief. Much better than an expression of irritation or disgust. The scientist relaxed his shoulders and tried to resume his speech.

"Err... as I was saying, the trip I'm doing is purely academic. Maybe I have some time to go sightseeing but ..." he paused, scratching his beard. The professor thought it was the best to change the subject. "Well, what about London? You've been living in the city for a long time, haven't? Do you fell like home there?"

" _Á coup sûr!_ " the detective replied cheerfully. "I confess that at first I had some difficulty getting in. After all, the English are so serious, so... cold! And they have that kind of humor that only they understand, but gradually you begin to understand and laugh at the small sarcasms... just to be polite." he paused to wipe the drops of wine from his flawless mustache. "But it is true that I am already well accustomed to the environment and I consider London to be my home."

"I'm happy to hear that! Have you become accustomed to the English coldness?"

For a moment, the detective didn't say a thing, but his hand moved to Philip's neck. Instinctively the scientist held his breath, but soon realized that Poirot was just adjusting his bow tie that was crooked.

" _Beaucoup mieux!_  If I didn't fix your tie soon, I'd go crazy!"

"Oh, sorry!" the scientist took the opportunity to also straighten his vest and run his hands through his hair, removing a stubborn wick that falls on his eyes. "Well, anyway, you still have not answered me if you've gotten used to the English coldness. Especially the military. As we both seem to share our apartments with one of them, I imagine you should know that most of them find it difficult to open up and expose their... feelings."

"It's true." the smile Poirot opened was so large that it made his dimples appear. "But ... with the right encouragement ... they always open up and show themselves very warm to what they look like, right?"

Philip took a moment to process the lines between the lines, and when he did, he smiled.

_It's so good to meet someone who ... understand!_

His thoughts were interrupted when the flight attendant's voice called for passengers to fasten their seat belts. 

" _Sommes-nous arrivés à Bruxelles?_ " Poirot looked surprised. "Time flew by so fast!"

"Yes." said Mortimer, still with a big smile. "Very fast."

 

.........................................

 

 

The plane landed without complications and soon the two men were already with their hands in their respective luggage inside the airport. From there, each one would take a taxi to a different destination.

"Feel free to visit me at this address, _mon cher professeur._ My family is not exactly the most affectionate, but they will always receive a guest of mine with great respect."

"Thank you! And if you need any help or company to talk to, you have the college phone number."

"Sure!"

They smiled at each other and shook hands. The steady hand of the scientist wrapped around his, and Poirot could feel the warmth of it ( _this man must had not trouble to keep himself warm in the winter, it must be the Scottish blood_ ). Kind of by impulse, he pulled the Briton slightly toward him and gave him two kisses on the cheek, in the continental fashion. The redhead looked surprised for a moment, but only laughed. Poirot laughed too, the feeling of that soft beard brushing his face was quite nice.

"Well, it was a great pleasure to make your acquaintance!" 

"Likewise, _mon cher professeur!_   _Au revoir!_ "

"Bye!" Mortimer walked away, but made one final remark. "Oh, and send my regards to your captain!"

" _Mon capitaine_?" Poirot stopped suddenly and turned his head. "Oh, _oui_! And send my regards to yours!"

Laughing, the two men silently said goodbye one last time and headed to their destination.

 


End file.
